Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I don’t like it, but I find myself grinning anyway.
It’s showtime, baby.
My sudden case of girly blue balls vanishes faster than it came on, because nothing gets me hotter than what I’m about to do.
I finish locking up Black Velvet and shut off all the lights so that nobody from the outside can see that I’m still here, though I don’t know who could possibly be out there with this stupid curfew.
With everything under control, I head back to my office. My real office, not the one where I take meetings and talk shit with the girls.
No, this space is just for me.
It’s hidden well behind the panel that sits at the back of my filing cabinet, the one nobody uses or even knows about. I shift it out of the way and after moving the paneling, I step into the small private room, switching on the light as I move deeper inside.
The second I close the office door behind me, the rest of the world fades away. This room is mine. Not the version of me that smiles for customers or manages staff. Just me. The walls are painted matte black, the lighting low and warm, and every surface is cluttered with pieces of my life—camera lenses, film canisters, half-filled notebooks, and stacks of photographs waiting to be sorted.
A worn leather couch sits beneath a collection of framed black-and-white photographs I’ve taken over the years. City streets. Storm clouds. Empty alleyways. Beautiful things most people walk straight past without noticing, but I do. I notice everything.
The whole room smells faintly of vanilla and old paper, and for the first time all day, I feel myself relax. Only that’s not why I’m here.
Moving across the small space, I pull open the fully stocked closet and my gaze immediately sails over the vast variety of black clothing, and I find myself reaching for a pair of ripped black jeans, boots, and a corseted crop.
A familiar calm settles over me, the same way it does every time I step into this room. The world makes sense here. No complicated feelings. No annoying men who either want to blow up my home or bail on dates. No emotional damage. Just work.
But not the kind of work a girl like me should be doing. Definitely not the kind of work a girl like me should be good at.
I finish dressing before adjusting myself in front of my full-length mirror and touching up my makeup. Then I reach for the finishing touch, adjusting it over me, and the moment I’m done, I stare back at myself, taking in the deep-red wig as the vixen inside of me comes alive.
This is the real me. The me that Hunter and Maddox will never know. The real killer this city has been searching for. But they’ll never find me. I’m too good. I’m a ghost, a rumor, a nightmare.
I’m the Red fucking Widow.
At least, that’s what chatrooms on the dark web have started to call me. It’s a little dramatic, but I kinda like it. Actually, maybe I love it. Just a little.
The corner of my lip pulls into a twisted smirk. If these boys think they get to be the only ones who go out and have fun, they’re going to be sorely mistaken. Because my version of fun is proving that I’m the best, no matter what. And after leaving me high and dry on my bar, I’m going to revel in taking their hit.
Ready to go, I reach into the closet and take the small vial of perfume and spritz it in my hair before inhaling the sweet vanilla scent. It’s my signature scent, and while I would bathe in this perfume if I could, I strictly keep it only to my hair so that when the wig comes off, I can go straight back to being Lyra.
A smile pulls at my lips. I’m going to rain down hell over these boys.
Don’t get me wrong, they’re good. Great even, but taking hits from them has been like stealing candy from a baby. And what’s more, they have no idea they’ve been competing against me this entire time.
They’ve spent weeks chasing a ghost while I’ve been standing right in front of them, sharing drinks, stealing fries, and listening to every theory under the sun.
The best part? Hunter thinks he’s impossible to fool. Maddox thinks he notices everything. Yet neither one of them will see me coming. But honestly? Watching the realization hit their faces might end up being my favorite kill of the night.
I’ve got to give it to Maddox, though. He straight-up fooled me. I thought Hunter was my only competition in Onyx Heights, but when the boys snuck out of Maddox’s place while I was on the couch, I couldn’t bring myself to sit still. I needed to know Maddox’s part in it. That realization hit me right in the vag. I don’t know how I’d missed it. But the moment I watched him make his first kill that night, I realized he was just as deranged as Hunter. Hell, maybe even as deranged as I am. But one thing is for sure, this is a fools game, and nobody fools others as well as I do.